


The Lycanthropic Case

by icstars



Series: The Anthology of a Lycanthrope [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Bloody murders, Dean being an asshole to Sherlock, First Fanfiction, Gen, Going to have a sequal, Hinting at Johnlock (Slightly), Lycanthropic murders, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Mark of Cain, Pre-Reichenbach, Serious Injuries, Sherlock Being an Asshole, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock wants a case, Werewolf!Sherlock, the bunker, wolflock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7994743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icstars/pseuds/icstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are called to a case but when they get there they meet two very strange FBI agents who go by the names of Agent Walsh and Shaw. The two agents believe the killer is a supernatural being while Sherlock believes it to be an average murder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Supernatural part takes place post-apocalypse (half month after) and pre-Mark of Cain. Sherlock takes place pre-reichenbach fall (little after “The hounds of Baskerville”)

Chapter 1 

“ _ Male, six-foot one, late forties. _ ” Sherlock Holmes spoke while glancing over his brother’s shoulder at the crime scene.

“Male, yes, six-foot one, no,” his brother, Mycroft sneered at Sherlock. “Five foot ten.” He stepped to the side to let Sherlock pass him.

“Whatever, let me just see the body.” Sherlock walked passed his brother along with his flatmate and best friend, John Watson. “I’ve been dying for a murder case…” He mumbled under his breath as he jumped the yellow police tape, several cameramen and policemen crowded the body, John tried his best at getting a glance at the bloody corpse. It would be perfect for his blog. 

 

“Step aside,” Sherlock said to one of the policemen pushing the officer aside, the authorities gave him a nasty glare but obliged anyways stepping to the left. He kneeled down next to the corpse, the amber eyes glassy and the skin white as snow with a good amount of blood painting the body. It’s chest cavity was ripped open, bits and pieces of ribs were easily spotted along with his lungs. It didn’t really faze Sherlock seeing as he deals with this kind of stuff everyday. He took out his pocket magnifying glass and examined the body from head to toe.

“Messy hair, he was in a rush this morning… Enough time to put on some product but not enough time to brush. The scratch marks suggest he’s been worried, scratching at his own forearms, et cetera.” He looked closer at the fingernails. “His nails are a bit… Sharp?” Sherlock cocked his head to the side.   
“Growing them out?” John suggested.   
“Maybe.” He continued looking, the corpse was a bit hard for the consulting detective to examine due to the blood covering him. “Can I get a sample of this man’s blood in a baggy?” He glanced up asking one of the policemen.

“A baggy?” Officer Gerald, as his name tag reads glanced at the body then at Sherlock.

“Yes, a baggy, that’s what I said.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall right now!” He jumped to his feet.

“Well, Sherlock, you kind of are.” John stood with Sherlock, he had a zip-lock baggy with him already knowing that his flatmate would want a sample. He reached into his pocket pulling out the little bag and handing it to Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock and John jumped the yellow tape again, this time Sherlock carried a bag filled to the top with red oozing liquid. Mycroft gave him a dirty look before stopping his brother.    
“What the hell is that?” 

“It’s the red liquid that circulates in the arteries and veins of humans and other vertebrate animals, carrying oxygen to and carbon dioxide from tissues of the body.” 

“Smartass.” Mycroft growled.

“You asked what it was, so I explained.” Sherlock shrugged and place the bag into his pocket, he turned his head to continue talking to Mycroft as he walked. “The man’s heart is missing. It’s an animal attack.”

“Animal attack?” Mycroft was confused, an animal attack in downtown London? Even so what kind of animal tears a man up like this? 

 

Sherlock looked forward to run into two well dressed men, the one on his right was taller than the one on the left.

The taller one also had longer hair, messy. His eyes were a greyish green, tired and he held a bored- unamused expression. He dressed in a black suit and a blue striped tie. The shorter one had lighter hair, a sandy brown with emerald-green eyes he looked just as tired except he held a scowl.

Sherlock tried apologizing to the two men but the shorter one quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out an FBI ID.

“Agent Walsh and Shaw.” He pointed to himself then at his partner, Walsh’s breath smelt of whisky and his suit reeked of gunpowder and fast food, Shaw on the other hand, his suit smelled of vinegar and ranch but again breath of whisky.

“We’re here to investigate the body.” Shaw pointed looking over Sherlock’s head to glance at the slowly rotting corpse.

“Why would FBI investigate an animal attack?” John asked, he was practically a Hobbit compared to Agent Shaw. It kind of messed with his head, his height and the man’s… They were probably about the same age, John being a couple years older.

“Attacks like these have been showing up, starting in Kansas we’ve followed it up to London.” Walsh said putting away his ID. “Just a check up, y’know?” He walked passed the dark curly haired man. 

“Whatever,” Sherlock was too lost in his mind to even care. “John, can you pick up some milk? I’m heading to the lab.” He quickly hailed a cab, John perplexed by how quickly the milk can disappear in the flat. “Seriously…?” He mumbled and did the same as Sherlock, hailed a cab. 

  
oooo 

 

Sherlock, back at the lab placed a small dot of blood onto a slide placing it under the microscope. The corpse’s blood looked normal, good amount of white blood cells, no sign of disease or sickness. This man was clearly healthy… Or at least had healthy blood. The lab was silent, he was expecting Hooper to pop in but surprisingly there was no trace of her… She had mentioned a date or something… but then again Sherlock wasn’t listening. 

The blood looked normal, everything was normal except for his death, who or what killed him? Sherlock was stumped, luckily John wasn’t in the same room, he knows he would be getting an astonished reaction.  _ Sherlock Holmes; The world’s only Consulting Detective doesn’t understand what kind of animal killed this man. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

“ _ It’s been two days, _ ” Sherlock pestered his flatmate with his constant whining, he sat perched on the couch with his laptop in front of him, his hair was tangled and it appeared he hasn’t slept for those two days. “It’s been two days since this man’s death and what do I have? Nothing!” He pushed his laptop onto the table.

“Sherlock, why are you so invested in this case?” John asked sipping at the hot cup of tea he held in his hand, 

“Because John! I should know this! It’s a simple animal attack but I want to know what the hell kind of animal rips out the heart and nothing else!” He stood up on the couch and fell backwards tossing himself onto the comfy cushions, “I need a cigarette…” He groaned and looked around the flat.

“No, you’ve been doing well so far, Sherlock. Besides there are no traces of tobacco in this apartment.” 

“I got nicotine patches. I know I’ve been doing well, I keep track.” He waited for John to grab his jacket for him for his patches, John first giving a confused glance, then realized what the man wanted. He let out a groan and walked over to the coathangers.

“I don’t need your whining, John.” He held his hands together placing the two index fingers on the tip of his nose, it helps him think. John walked over and handed the box of patches to Sherlock, he quickly ripped open the box placing four patches on his forearm.   
“Jesus Christ…” John sat himself down in his chair with the cup after watching Sherlock placed half of the pack of patches on him. “I think smoking would be the better choice instead of placing the entire box of nicotine into your bloodstream,” He said sarcastically.

“No, John. Cigarettes contain over four thousand chemicals, this is just straight nicotine.” He sighed closing his eyes and leaning his head back onto the couch.

“Still, enough nicotine can kill you like smoking.” John looked around for his newspaper.

“Lung cancer?” Sherlock opened one eye and pointed at the folded newspaper on the table.

“Sherlock, I was just trying to make a point.” He gave up on the argument and grabbed his newspaper reading the front page.

**_“Eat your heart out! Another dead in London! Heart missing!”_ **

 

“Sherlock?” John glanced up.

“What?” The curly haired detective breathed in again attempting to think.

“Another murder.” He knew once he spoke those words Sherlock would instantly jump in and that’s what he did, Sherlock quickly opened his eyes and ripped off the four nicotine patches tossing them aside. He stood up walking over the table and grabbing his jacket.   
“Come on, John!” Sherlock shouted throwing on his shoes and jacket. “I want to get there before those ‘ _ FBI Agents _ ’ get there…” He scorned even by mentioning those two agents, Sherlock knew that those two aren’t real. Their badges are clearly forged. 

John regretted telling Sherlock about the death but then again he would have seen it on the news, he got up from his chair and followed the man in a jacket and pajama pants out the door. 

Hailing a cab, Sherlock opened the back door and hopped into the taxi along with John. 

Before the taxi could accelerate forward a black car quickly sped by, it caught the driver off guard shouting out, “Did you catch the license?” He quickly looked back at the two reaching for his pen, 

“CNK 80Q3.” Sherlock squinting as the car slowly disappeared down the road, “It’s an impala…” 

“They don’t make models like that anymore,” John said. “It looks in pretty good condition, I’m kind of jealous,” he babbled with a slight chuckle. 

The driver scribbled what Sherlock said, “Maniacs need to look where they’re heading,” He mumbled.

“Yes, yes. Drivers are terrible, can we get a move on?” Sherlock spoke sternly. 

 

oooo

 

Sherlock and John arrived on the scene and apparently they were beaten to the punch, the two agents were speaking to Mycroft Holmes holding out their badges again.

 

“Once again, it was a male, same age, nationality, everything about him basically the same as the last guy,” Mycroft answered the men’s queries. 

“Were there any witnesses?” Shaw asked. 

“Not necessarily but the man’s wife is in the area if you want to ask her questions.” He pointed at a profusely sobbing woman over by the ambulance.

“Thank you.” Walsh put away his badge. “C’mon.” He patted his partner’s shoulder and the two walked over to the mourning woman.

“So thinking it’s a werewolf?” Shaw glanced at Walsh.

“Well, heart’s missing, Sammy,” Walsh nodded trying to keep his voice low. “So no shit it’s a werewolf.” 

“I’m just surprised that the attacks traveled east.” Shaw actually known as Sam tried glancing at the corpse only to spot Sherlock and John walking towards the two.

“Excuse us,” Sherlock shouted at the two. Walsh and Shaw stopped in their place, “who are you two?” 

“Agent Walsh and Agent Shaw…?” Walsh spoke for the both of them, he reached for his FBI badge but Sherlock stopped him.

“No, no, no! Not the badge, I don’t want to see the faux badge.” He stopped Walsh’s hand. “No, your real names. Your whole ‘agent’ disguise is terrible!” He shook his head. Walsh and Shaw gave glances at each other.

“W-What do you mean?” Shaw tried lying, Sherlock detected the adrenaline, the fear in Shaw.

“Your badges, they’re forged!” Sherlock pierced at them. “Now, c’mon tell me your real names.” 

“Lower your voice!” Walsh hissed. “ ‘Kay you got us.” He saw no help in lying more, Sherlock would easily detect all of their lies. “We’re not agents…” he whispered trying to stay low. Sherlock smirked while John gaped at Sherlock, the two seemed authentic, the suits, badges. 

“Now, your real names?” 

Walsh rolled his eyes. “Dean,” he pointed at himself then at his partner, “and this is my brother, Sam.”

Sam glanced at Dean, believing this was the first time he saw his brother give up on lying, he turned his head to spot the woman but no luck, apparently while Sherlock put them through a lie detector the woman left. “Dammit,” he murmured, Dean looked at his brother, Sam cocked his head to where the woman was suppose to be, moving his eyes. “Great,” Dean grumbled as well.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Sherlock continued to pester them.

“Well that woman that was over there, the wife. Yeah we were going to solve this murder,” Dean said, his tone sounded ticked, rougher than usual.

“Why?” John asked. 

“You aren’t the Consulting Detective here, it’s an animal attack now you two can go back to wherever you're from!” Sherlock pointed over at the road, the black impala parked on the side of the road with a pink speeding ticket sheet attached to the windshield.

“Consulting detective?” Sam squinted looking puzzled. 

“Listen here, buddy. I can tell you one thing for sure, it’s not just an animal attack.” Dean rolled his eyes at the man’s cockiness.

“Then what in God’s name is it?” Sherlock slowly raised his voice. 

“Sherlock, calm down.” John put his hand near Sherlock, trying to calm down his partner before they catch the whole police forces’ attention.

“Hey, Rat’s nest, maybe if you calm down a bit we’ll tell you!” Dean was slowly losing his temper, little by little, he was one step closer to clocking this nosy detective upside the head.  Sam was surprised by how his brother was acting, he has never seen Dean so easy to give information. 

“Rat’s nest?” John was a little confused by the nickname given to Sherlock but it achieved at calming down the man.

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, it would be easier just to turn these two in but he was hungry for some answers on this case. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

 

_ “Now,” _ Sherlock glanced over, his brother gone along with Anderson and Donovan. Only ones left were policemen, “I want you to tell me what exactly it is.” 

“Alright, but first I think we should go to a private place, we know you're gonna react.” Sam gave a glance at the Impala.

“Of course I’m gonna react, it’s what people do. Reactions, like right now I’m reacting to you two idiots in a suit.”

“That’s not what he meant, smartass,” Dean growled. “Just go get in the car, we need to stop by our motel anyways for supplies.” 

John first was adamant to the idea, he really couldn’t lose anything else if he entered the car, other than his life. He shrugged and headed towards the Impala. Sherlock followed after. He really couldn’t go anywhere else without John, well he could, he just didn’t want to. 

 

oooo 

 

“Werewolves?” Sherlock spat out. “You have to be joking.” He leaned forward in the backseat, his hands gripping on the back of the passenger seat. Dean drove fast down London highway, no wonder he gotten the speeding ticket.

“Nope,” Dean said reaching the volume dial on the radio, ‘Don’t fear (The reaper)’ by Blue Oyster Cult played. Sherlock was annoyed by the man’s musical choice. 

“What we said, Rat’s nest, is true.” He glanced into the rearview mirror. “Werewolves ate out that man’s heart.” 

John, just as confused as Sherlock, spoke up, “Werewolves are real?”   
“John, don’t be stupid. Supernatural creatures like werewolves aren’t real.” Sherlock turned his head to glare at John. He couldn’t believe a soldier who has been in the military and knows the true terror of the world would believe that werewolves are real.

“Hey, I told you that everything we say is true,” Dean added.

“And how do I know you're not lying?”   
“The same way you knew we weren’t agents.” The radio changed from Blue Oyster Cult to Asia, Dean, in the blink of an eye quickly changed the station, turning down the radio to hear Sherlock. John knew what was to come next.

“Well, the pumping adrenaline, sweat, suggested you had something to hide, something that you were lying about. Your badges are printed wrong, another clue that you two were fakers.” Sherlock glanced out the window. Sam wiped his forehead, and saw that he was sweating. It was faint but the moisture on his fingertips proved the stressful adrenaline. “And ‘Agent Walsh’s’ breath smelled too much like whisky and fast food, if you work as an FBI agent tell me why you drink like a sailor.” 

Dean stomped his foot down on the breaks once making it to the motel parking lot, Sherlock launched forward, falling off the car’s seats and hitting the back passenger seat with force, 

“Interesting,” Dean said sarcastically pulling the keys out of the ignition. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and opened the door.

“Are you alright?” He asked Sherlock opening the backdoor for him. John helped Sherlock up and out of the car, the man nodded attempting to stay balanced on his feet. “Yes,” Sherlock groaned.

“That was amazing!” Sam gave a grin, talking about his analysis scanning. “How could you tell that our badges were fake? Not a lot of people can do that.” 

“Right, isn’t it neat?” John agreed with the tall man, the two weren’t that very much different from each other. 

 

Sherlock sat on the bed of the motel room, Dean searched around the entire room for their supplies for hunting lycanthropes. 

Sam sat at the table, laptop opened in front of him with a half empty bottle of warm beer next to him. He glanced at Sherlock and John. “Uh, want a bottle?” He asked trying to be polite.   
“No,” Sherlock said out flatly.

“Do you have tea?” John asked. “I don’t drink that much.” Sherlock snickered at that comment.

“Yes you do, you go out to the bar at five every Sunday and Wednesday.” John turned his attention more towards the television. 

Dean came out of the bathroom holding a silver blade and a cartridge of silver bullets. Sherlock looked at the man carrying silver. “You really think you’re going to be killing a werewolf?” 

“Yes, shut up.” Dean replied walking passed him and over to his brother. “Any news?” 

“Nope, still four dead.” 

“Four?” John got up and walked over to Sam’s laptop. “I only heard the two.”   
“Mhm, three men all of the same age with one woman in her late twenties,” Sam said to John. 

“Hearts all missing?” 

“Now, at least this guy is willing to believe us!” Dean held his hand open towards John while looking at his brother. “How do you two even know eachother?” Referring to John and Sherlock, John answered, “We’re flatmates.” 

 

John, Sam and Dean all talked about the ‘werewolves’ while Sherlock just watched the television until he heard a faint sound, the sound of ruffling wings. The sound slowly got louder in his ear. He glanced around the room when the sound of ruffling wings caught the attention of the three, then a man appeared near Dean.   
“Hello, Dean,” the man spoke, his voice just as deep and rough as Sam and Dean’s. Dean jumped and shouted.

“Jesus, Cass!” He breathed out, “Can’t you knock or something?” 

“My apologies” Castiel looked around the room, spotting the two unfamiliar faces.

“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asked getting up and walking over to Castiel, his analysis made no sense. The man who appeared in the room, he dressed as a family man, a father or maybe a bank accountant. His trench coat was dirty and had traces of blood. How did he even get into the room? 

“I am Castiel,” Castiel introduced himself to Sherlock and John, “Angel of the Lord.” Dean rolled his eyes. His iconic greeting. 

“Yeah, that’s Cass.” Dean stated.

“Castiel?” John thought for a minute. “I read that name in religion.” 

“Jesus Christ, John, you believe anything these blokes tell you!” Cass glared at Sherlock for using Christ’s name in vain despite the fact that he didn’t get annoyed when Dean did. “This man isn’t an angel!”   
“Then how’d he just appear in the room?” John asked.

“I don’t know! But he’s no angel!” The stubborn man shouted, his brain was on the edge of snapping, “Angels have wings, and halos! They don’t wear trench coats.” He crossed his arms.

“I am an angel…” Castiel said quietly, keeping his mouth in a straight line. 

“Cass, just… Just don’t mind him. He’s having trouble processing all of this,” Sam spoke for the Consulting Detective. “Now, is there any news that you wanted to tell us?”

“Yes, I believe the werewolf is somewhere around London.”   
“Well, of course” Dean said. “Where though?” Castiel glanced at Dean,

“Epping forest.” 

John glanced up from Sam’s laptop. “Epping forest? I haven’t been there in years.” He thought to himself, was it really full of werewolves? Or just the one. 

“They’ve retreated into a forest?” Sam asked. Castiel nodded. “Well, should we chase after them?” Castiel reached for Dean and Sam and grabbed their shoulders, teleporting them to the forest. Castiel reached for John then attempting to reach for Sherlock but he jumped back confused at what the man was doing. He sent John along with Sam and Dean then quickly grabbed Sherlock before he could jump again, taking him with him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

_ Sherlock and John just saw a flash of white light and suddenly they’re in Epping Forest.  _ The two landed on the grassy ground, the orange leaves scattered everywhere. Dean and Sam landed on their feet and watched the two get up and walk over to them.

“The lycanthrope is somewhere around here,” Castiel said reaching for the angel blade inside of his trench coat. It was made of silver so it was the perfect weapon to kill a monster with. 

“What if it’s not a… Ly-can-thrope?” John stopped to see if he said it correctly, he didn’t feel like asking what a ‘lycanthrope’ was since he already understood in the context of the sentence.

“It is.” Castiel quickly whipped his head to the left when hearing rustling of leaves, he quickly disappeared. Dean groaned, “Dammit, Cass, we do this as a team!” He looked up and shouted, Sherlock couldn’t help but chortle at the man’s tone. 

 

Sam started to look around as well, he glanced at Dean. “You wanna give those two silver blades? Seeing as they’re hunting with us now?” Dean shook his head and opened his jacket pocket, pulling out two knives and tossed them at the two, John caught both of them. He knew his way around a knife, of course. 

Handing one to Sherlock, the man denied taking the knife. “I’m telling you, it’s not going to be a werewolf.” He gripped his beliefs tightly, not letting go. “So, no. I’m not taking the knife.” 

“Suit yourself, Rat’s nest.” Dean shrugged, he didn’t feel like arguing at this point and started searching for the werewolf. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed to slits, knitting his eyebrows close. “My name isn’t ‘Rat’s nest,’” he hissed at the man, “it’s William Sherlock Holmes Scott! Do you hear the word ‘Rat’s nest’ in there?” 

Sam frowned, glancing over at Dean his eyes just yelling the message of ‘Knock it off, Dean.’ His brother, rolling his eyes, gave a nod. 

 

Sherlock stayed by a tree, he ended up agreeing to take a knife but he wasn’t going to search around aimlessly, instead he leaned against the bark of the tree and glanced  around every so often when he heard a rustle, but usually it was John or the Winchesters. He let out a groan, tired of being in the middle of a forest. “When the hell are you two going to stop believing it’s a werewolf?” 

“When we find the damn thing,” Dean said, getting aggravated by Sherlock’s constant whining, continuously asking the same question over and over, groaning that he wanted to go back to the flat or that he needed a smoke. Dean ran over to John, leaning in. “How do you put up with him?” He asked.

John chuckled looking around, he was very perceptive when it came to searching for things, so he was pretty much on top of the hunting game. He didn’t find a werewolf, but he found a couple of rabbits and one stray dog he thought to be a werewolf. “Trust me, it’s difficult but you kind of learn to tune it out,” the blond man joked.    
  


Sherlock scowled, he could hear their conversation. It wasn’t his fault he was in such a pissy attitude, angered by the fact he was dragged - no, teleported - into the middle of a forest with two escaped mental patients and one man who claims to be an angel. Speak of the Devil, Castiel showed up, appearing close to Sherlock which in response the man jumped back, almost falling over and shouting something. 

Dean glanced over and quickly called to Sam, the two running over to meet with the angel and Sherlock “Did you find anything, Cass?”   
Castiel shook his head. “No, sadly. The lycanthrope seems to know how to cover his tracks.” Dean looked at Sam. “What if we met up with Garth? He might know who the werewolf could be,” Sam suggested since their friend was a werewolf, though he jumped to the conclusion that all werewolves know each other.

“What the hell, it couldn’t hurt.” Dean shrugged, he was up for anything at this point just wanting this case to be over.

 

John walked over to Sherlock while the three conversed. “Sherlock, can you please stop being such a pain. I thought this is what you wanted, an adventure?”   
“I wanted a normal case, John. Not some paranoid kid’s imagination.” Sherlock glanced at the man without turning his head.

“Can you at least have an open mind?”   
“No, I know this world. There is no such thing as ‘werewolves,’ they’re just a myth that mothers and fathers give to their kids to scare them.” John gave up, clearly there was no way to convince the man, he was as stubborn as a mule.

 

John dragged Sherlock over to the three asking what was the plan.

“We’re going to go check in on an old friend to see if he has any information on the killings…” Dean said to John, “He might at least know a couple things.”   
John nodded. “Should we tag along?” 

“Only if you want,” Sam shrugged, “hunting is a pretty dangerous game and you might get killed.” John thought about it for a moment, then looked to Sherlock. Clearly John wanted to go along, sick of being stuck in the flat, reading the same newspaper over and over, drinking the same hot tea.

“We’re tagging along,” Sherlock sighed, crossing his arms. “But take us back to the flat I’m sick of being stuck in my robe and slippers…”

Castiel glanced down at Sherlock’s feet, he wore blue fuzzy slippers. ‘Why was he even wearing those in the first place?’ The angel thought.

“Fine,” Dean nodded, “Cass, can you do the honors?” 

Castiel grabbed Dean and Sam’s shoulders, sending them to Sherlock and John’s flat, then did the same to Sherlock and John. 

 

oooo 

 

Sherlock and John landed in their flat, Sam and Dean were already sitting down on the couch. 

 

The brunet man in his slippers quickly headed to his room to change, in the meantime John spoke with the Winchesters.

“So monsters are a real thing?” He asked already knowing the answer. Sam nodded.

“Werewolves, Vampires, Demons, et cetera… There is an entire list.” 

“What about unicorns?” John exulted, he just had to ask. While speaking he headed over to his chair, his leg was sort of pestering him with a sharp pain near his ankle.

“Well… Yes and no, they existed at one point and now they’re extinct.” Sam thought for a moment, then gave a small child like grin.

“Why are you more open minded than the man in his slippers?” Dean asked. 

“Well… I don’t know, there’s a lot to this world and sometimes unexpected things happen.” John shrugged stretching his arms in his chair. 

 

Sherlock came back from his bedroom wearing a purple button up shirt that fit him like a glove, black pants and dress shoes.

“Did you do your makeup as well?” Dean teased since Sherlock took a long while just to put on a shirt and pants.

Sherlock glared at him. “Who is this friend of yours?” He asked ignoring Dean’s comment.

“Garth Fitzgerald, he use to hunt with Dean until he got attacked by a werewolf himself.” Sam explained getting up from the couch.   
“So he’s a werewolf now…?” John asked, doing the same as Sam, Dean explained that some werewolves lived in colonies, some being non-violent.  

 

Castiel explained a little bit as well before grabbing the four of them and sending them off to the werewolf community. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

_ Sherlock didn’t land on his feet like John did. _ It was clear that his flatmate was getting a hang of the constant teleporting than him. 

 

He looked forward once getting to his feet again, he saw a small village standing before him. Several small houses made of wood and other materials. Werewolves disguised as human walked passed them, the only way you could tell they were werewolves was by their eyes, nails and teeth which were sharp and brightly colored 

“C’mon, let’s go find Garth,” Sam said quickly walking forward, Castiel didn’t tag along with them, he said he would search for the monster while Dean and Sam gathered information. 

Sherlock and John followed after the two. Dean and Sam spoke to each other, discussing plans and whatnot. 

Sherlock still stood his ground, he wasn’t going to believe that the people were actually werewolves unless he saw them feast upon humans with his own eyes, even then it could just be cannibals. He definitely was stubborn.

 

The four walked up to the house Garth and his wife lived in, Dean went up to the door, knocking on it four times, rhythmic beat. It took a couple minutes for a man opened it. 

He was short and kind of scrawny. The man had messy brunet hair, scruff on his face and was dressed nicely.

“Well, I don’t believe it!” Garth laughed, “Dean, Sam. Long time, no see.” He held a huge grin which showed off his sharp teeth. Dean nodded, “Yeah, yeah…” He was hoping for no small talk.

“What are you two doing here? Is there a case? Because you two both know that I d-” The man was quickly interrupted by Dean.   
“Yeah, It's a case. We were wondering if you knew anything about recent werewolf attacks?” 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it, why don’t you two come on inside and sit down.” He stopped and glanced behind Sam and Dean. “Oh, four I mean. Are these two new hunters?” Garth asked, Sam introduced Sherlock and John to Garth. 

 

oooo 

 

“John? As in John Watson?” Garth asked, sitting at the table speaking to the four, John nodded slightly surprised that Garth knew who he was. “I read your blog!” He grinned. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “So do you or do you not know anything about the ‘werewolf’ murders,” he used his index and middle fingers for quotations. He was perched on the chair he sat in next to John.

“Mm… I don’t think so, I mean not all werewolves know each other.” Garth turned his attention to Sherlock. “I’d try talking to Bess… She kind of knows more werewolves than I do.” He fixed his chair so he sat on it backwards, resting his head on the back of the seat, “How ‘bout we all talk about it over dinner? It’s been awhile since we all ate together.” When saying ‘we’ he meant Sam and Dean. 

Sam nodded, ‘Sure why not?’ Dean was getting hungry so might as well. 

 

Bess, Garth’s wife, was blonde and beautiful, she wore a pale yellow floral patterned dress with a white collar. She prepared dinner, and was setting the table. 

John sat next to Sherlock and across the table Dean sat next to Sam. Sherlock kept quiet, staring down at the empty plate with his brows close together he was clearly stuck in thought. He was slowly believing in what Dean and Sam spoke, but he still gripped tight to his beliefs, not wanting to know that he was wrong Bess brought the food out from the kitchen, it was rare meat on a platter. Probably rabbit meat. She cooked four separate plates for Sam, Dean, Sherlock and John. Normal human food. 

Sam and Dean spoke to Bess while the married couple ate. Sherlock picked at his food while John ate happily, the curly haired detective wasn’t even that hungry so he just continuously picked at it with his fork.

“I think I might know the werewolf…” Bess spoke to the Winchesters. “Though it is kind of hard to go off of attacks and not facial features…”   
“Sorry, we never really got a glance at the werewolf,” Sam apologized, putting some of the food into his mouth, chewing and then swallowing. It felt sort of wrong to believe that Bess would automatically know who they were speaking of. 

 

Sherlock looked up. “The murders were three males, one female. The men were all in late forties, same nationalities all caucasian, and one woman was in her twenties, dark skin and dark hair,” he explained the murders to Bess wondering if that would help her. 

Bess thought for a moment, glancing at Garth. She was surprised Sherlock actually looked up from his plate.

“Well… I guess some werewolves have specific taste in humans,” Bess spoke quietly, she disliked talking about the murder and consumption of humans. Sherlock licked his lips and sighed, getting up from the table.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asked him, cutting a piece from the medium rare meat on his plate and stabbing it with his fork.

“Out for a smoke,” The man replied heading over to the door, John dropped his fork and quickly followed after.   
“But Sherlock you don’t even have cigarettes on you!” 

“On the contrary, John.” Sherlock reached into his pocket and showed the blond the pack of cigarettes he hid from him, “Go sit back down, one isn’t going to kill me.” He rolled his eyes, just one is all he asked for to loosen his nerves before he snaps on the Winchesters for their insanity. 

John huffed, “Fine…” He walked back over to the table, Dean glanced at John. “A smoke kind of does sound good right now.” The man chuckled, Sam shook his head at his brother. 

 

Sherlock stood in the cold, next to the door to Garth’s house. He puffed at a cigarette, shivering slightly. It was worth it. 

Putting it between his lips, he looked around the village. All the citizens that lived there had retreated back inside for the night, so he found it quite odd when he heard rustling. The sound of leaves and branches being moved and ripped from their trees.

 

He glanced behind him, blowing out smoke when he spotted a weird figure emerge from the trees. It stood on it’s hind legs, and cold air exited it’s nostrils. But what made Sherlock’s blood race was the creature's yellow glowing eyes, very similar to canine eyes. 

The creature got down on all fours and darted for Sherlock. He dropped his burning cigarette and quickly ran forward just to get away from the creature. Panting heavily he found himself away from the village and in the forest, moving branches that were in his way. He heard the creature still chasing him so adamant about catching him and ripping him to shreds, hearing the heavy breathing from the monster made him more scared.

Sherlock quickly looked behind him to see how close whatever that thing chasing him was but in doing so he tripped and twisted his ankle. Yelling out swears the creature got close to him. 

 

As the creature got closer Sherlock’s world went black as the man slipped into unconsciousness. 

 

oooo 

 

Hours after being attacked by the creature Sherlock awoke to the sound of John shouting his name over and over while shaking his shoulders.

“Dear Lord, Sherlock! What happened to you?” John kept asking hoping for a response to reassure him his friend was alright.

 

Sherlock looked disheveled. His clothes ripped and bloody, his right arm was the bloodiest since that’s where the creature bit him. Sherlock barely remembers the attack but he remembers the intense pain.

“John… I’m fine,” He said quietly, weakly. Attempting to wave off the blond man but then quickly held his bloody arm.

“What the hell happened to you?” John asked, 

“I don’t know…” John helped Sherlock up, putting the Consulting Detective’s arm over his shoulder. “I was out for a smoke and next thing I know you're shaking me to wake up.” He looked down at the ground, the dirt floor held impression of paw marks. 

“We’re going home and you’re going to the emergency room.” John said to Sherlock as he helped him into the village again to Garth and Bess’ house, he wasn’t suggesting it, he was demanding it. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

_ Sam and Dean ran to John and Sherlock when they walked through the front door.  _

 

“Sherlock was attacked by a werewolf.” John frowned. “He’s losing blood, he needs to go the Doctor’s.”   
“Yeah, we see that.” Dean said helping John with carrying Sherlock, putting the lanky man onto the couch. “Did you see the werewolf?” He asked Sherlock which in response he shook his head. 

“Can’t you bring down your angel friend? Sherlock, stay awake!” John snapped his fingers in front of the man’s face, “If you can’t I will steal a car and drive him to the infirmary!” 

Sam looked at Dean without speaking. He told him to contact Castiel, it was an emergency. The older Winchester looked up at the ceiling and called out to the angel, praying for him to show up and heal the British man before he bleeds out on Garth’s and Bess’ couch. 

After a minute of waiting no one showed up.

“Cass?” Dean called out again. John, arms crossed and foot stamping gave up on waiting and threw his hands up in the air. “I knew this was a bad idea!” He went over to his bleeding friend and picked him up, carrying him in a bridal style. He ran to the back room.

“Garth, Bess? Do you have gauzes?” He asked.

Bess nodded and followed after. “In the bathroom.” She knew about what John was wanting to do and decided to help him.

 

John ran into the bathroom, it was small but it could fit two people. He set an unconscious Sherlock into the tub so if he bled more. John grabbed the gauzes from the medicine cabinet along with rubbing alcohol, general home medical stuff… It would have to do for now. 

He took the rubbing alcohol and poured it on any area that held wounds; Arms, legs, anywhere most likely infested with germs. They fizzed but not too much meaning that the wounds weren’t that dirty. 

This would be easier if John had his medical kit, it's difficult when you just have medicine from the dollar store. 

He wrapped his wounds in bandages, before that giving the wounds actually treatment taking out any thorns or leaves that stuck to Sherlock. John picked up Sherlock after putting away Garth and Bess’ gauzes and bandages and brought him back to the living room. He was in a terrible mood, annoyed at Sherlock for getting himself injured but also worried for his friend’s well-being, mad at the Winchester’s for not doing jackshit about the situation granted John was working way too fast for them to keep up. When he got back to the living room the angel stood in front of John, he sneered and pushed the angel aside, “I wrapped up his wounds, I don’t need your help.” 

Castiel stopped John, not listening to his words he put his middle and index finger on Sherlock’s head, the unconscious Consulting Detective winced and then moved his head to the side with a small grunt. The scratch marks and scars on his face healed up, 

“What the hell did you do?” John asked, 

“I healed his wounds,” Castiel said in his signature monotone voice, “The way you wrapped up and medicated the wounds. He would have died of an infection.”   
“How would you know?” John knitted his eyebrows close, narrowing his eyes at the angel, “You’re not a doctor.”   
“No, but I can detect these things…” The angel tilted his head to the side.

“Whatever!” His mind was boggled, John just wanted to be back at his flat. He actually misses sitting at his chair, sipping tea while Sherlock groaned from the couch about cases. “Just take me back home.”

 

“I told you he couldn’t handle it,” Dean leaned over and whispered to Sam. In response the younger brother sighed and when he was about to speak, John interrupted.

“Can’t handle it? Dean! Sherlock almost died! He was attacked by God knows what! And your saying I can’t handle it?” He tilted his head.

Sam interjected, “John, please just calm down. Sherlock is healed, he’ll wake up not knowing what happened, Castiel wiped his memory of the attack.” John glanced over at Castiel. Sam nodded his head, “We’ll take you back home and we can hunt the werewolf and you two can forget this ever happened.”

John let out a sigh, looking down at Sherlock. He looked so peaceful, John can’t remember the last time Sherlock actually slept… This was probably good for him. 

Castiel got closer to John again this time grabbing his shoulder and sending the two back to their flat in London. 

 

oooo 

 

John found himself in his flat, still holding Sherlock. He let out a deep sigh, walking over to the couch and carefully setting him down. 

Sherlock’s left arm fell off the couch and was left hanging, he turned his head rubbing it into the arm of the couch. 

“Good. He’s moving…” John said quietly, he walked out of the living room and grabbed Sherlock’s blanket from his room. Coming back he carefully set the blanket over the man to keep his body temperature at bay, Sherlock in his sleeping state grabbed the blanket and turned onto his side. 

John walked over to his chair and sat down, the tea that he left their a day ago was half full but cold, ‘I’m going to have to make another pot…’ He thought to himself. He’ll do that later, for now he looked up at the ceiling.   
John was just as exhausted as Sherlock and a nap did sound nice. The blond man slowly closed his eyes, the last image he saw was of his flatmate napping on the couch. He woke up at four o’clock in the morning. John blinked a couple times before quickly glancing over at the couch. The blanket was thrown to the side… Sherlock was awake. 

“Sherlock?” John called out, he got no response but a loud scream came from the bathroom, “Sherlock!” The man jumped up, and quickly ran to the bathroom door. The lights were leaking through the door and he heard the sink running, John pounded his fist on the door, “Sherlock! Are you alright?” He asked through the door, he got no response. John reached for the handle and turned it. It was unlocked. 

 

The sink was running at full pressure and the knobs were missing they appeared to be ripped off. Sherlock stood in front of the mirror, paler than before and his hair in front of his face. He was breathing heavily which showed off his teeth. John felt his blood go cold. 

Sherlock’s canine teeth were sharper and longer than before, his other teeth were jacked and sharp. It was unnatural. Sherlock whipped his head at John, blinking once his eyes changed from his once bluish green mix eyes to an ugly yellow with slit pupils. 

Sherlock panting, he could hear the blood rush through John’s body. The man’s heartbeat made him run wild. 

“S-Sherlock?” John’s voice cracked as he slowly back up, he saw the hunger in Sherlock’s newfound eyes.

Sherlock wanted to fight this instinct, he didn’t want to harm his friend, he didn’t want to feast on the blood of John but he felt like he was going to die if he didn’t. He launched forward attempting to rip the flesh off of the man. John dodged it, the adrenaline pumping through him tempted Sherlock more. He needed to grab Sam and Dean. 

“John! Stop please!” Sherlock pleaded, chasing him around the flat. It just came out it was as if one side of him was normal and the other side was going animalistic, 

John shook his head and quickly ran out the door, pretty much flying down the stairs and making it outside. He hopped into a cab not caring if it was someone else’s. Sherlock seemed to have stopped chasing him.

 

Sherlock stopped due to the fact that a bystander caught his attention on the stairs. A man, tan skin with O+ blood. Sherlock couldn’t help himself, it just sounded so succulent and delicious the blood pumping in and out of his heart. Tackling the man to the ground, the bystander let out a scream out for help alerting several people on the streets. 

Sherlock lash his head at the man’s neck, ripping out a good chunk the blood squirting out and Sherlock could just smell it, it filled his nose only making him thirst for it more. He started drinking the blood from the wound. Slowing tracing his sharp nails down the man’s chest, ripping shirt and then driving his hand into the left side of his ribcage, the man was already dead so he didn’t yell out more. Sherlock ripped out a still heart and swallowed it in two bites. Sucking out the rest of the blood from the body he heard footsteps. Sherlock jumped to his feet, looking at the mutilated corpse he still heard his stomach growl so he picked up the corpse missing his heart and jumped through the closest window. He planned to run to the forest and finish his first kill. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

_ Epping forest was quiet the only sound that could be heard was Sherlock ripping the flesh from the long dead corpse.  _

 

Sherlock, breathing heavily his lips were practically dripping with the red liquid. He licked his lips and looked down at the body that laid before him. Ribcage was visible, bones, organs. It was very reminiscent to the murders that took prior only a couple days ago. 

Jesus Christ, what had he done. 

 

oooo 

 

John was panting, wondering what the hell had just happened, what happened to Sherlock? The cab driver asked him where he wanted to go in which case he just told the man to drive in random direction and the cab driver gave a nod and stepped on the gas pedal. 

He pulled out his phone, turning it on and searched for the Winchester’s contact. They gave it to him before they went to Garth’s place, a little after Sherlock left for a smoke. He found the contact and hit the ‘dial’ button immediately. 

 

It rang about four times before someone actually picked up, 

“Hello?” Dean’s voice came in clear through the speakerphone, 

“Dean?” John didn’t wait to actually see if it was the man, he just needed answers, he needed help, “Dean! Something is wrong with Sherlock!” 

“John? What do you mean something’s wrong with him?” Dean asked, he pulled away from the phone for a couple minutes to grab Sam.

“H-He… He tried to attack me!” John stuttered recalling how Sherlock quickly jumped for him, reminding him of being attack by a dog when he was only seven.

“Oh… Sh-” Dean’s voice trailed off for a couple minutes, speaking could be heard in the background, “John, are you out of your apartment?”   
“Of course! Sherlock was trying to kill me, he even pleaded me to stay still, do you seriously believe I’m going to stay in my flat?” He said sarcastically, the cab driver glanced at him but John just waved him off.

Sam took the phone from Dean, “John? It’s Sam. I’m sorry to tell you this but your friend… Er, uh, Sherlock… After he got attack,” Sam sighed, “Sherlock’s a werewolf.” He decided not to sugarcoat it, John seemed strong enough to be honest with. 

 

John exhaled through his nose, “Is there a cure?” He asked, there was no point in freaking out more.

“Not that we know of,” Sam spoke in a flat tone, “We could try to but most likely he’s going to stay this way.” 

“Of… Course,” John nodded again, “Should we meet up? Try and catch him?” He asked, Dean took the phone from Sam to agree with John, telling him that they should meet where John usually is. 

 

oooo 

 

“Where do you believe he went to?” John asked the Winchester’s, they met up at a close restaurant. Sam held Bobby’s journal, scanning through it to see if there was anything about Lycanthropic cures, Dean shrugged he would ask Castiel but at the moment the angel wasn’t there, he just teleported the two to London and then left them. 

“He might have gone to someone he knows,” Dean shaking his head, “For a meal.”

 

John sipped at a cup; Hot tea with a lemon in the glass. Thinking deeply of where Sherlock could have ran to, he did remember hearing a scream from the flat after leaving, 

“No,” John responded to Dean’s words, “He’s not hungry… Or at least not anymore.” He knows his friend and he knows Sherlock eats like a bird, “He probably did find… someone,” John gagged slightly, just thinking about Sherlock ripping up a man and feasting on him felt like a messed up nightmare or a terrible rumor spread by some middle-schooler, “I heard a bloodcurdling scream after… After I got into the cab.” He took another drink.

Dean nodded, “What do you got, Sammy?” He looked to his brother seeing as finding Sherlock’s location might take a while, 

“Well… Again,” He glanced at John then back down at the journal, “There really isn’t a solid cure for werewolfism.” Sam continued.

“What are some of them? There has to be at least one,” John spotted the waiter coming by and asked for a refill on his tea, “Like a cure for a cold.”   
“Lycanthropy isn’t like a common cold.” Dean squinted at John, the fact he would even make those connections. 

“Whatever, you know what I mean.” John pressed his lips together, “Like, a soup or some medication.” He waved his hand around in circles coming up with examples.

Sam held the journal a bit closer to his face to read some of Bobby’s writings, “No soup but this here says saying the real name of the werewolf might cure it…” John’s face lit up in response, “ _ Might cure it. _ ” Seemed like Sam had to add that detail in for John. 

“Oh,” John rolled his eyes. The waitress brought him a refill, he thanked her and payed for the bill along with giving her a small tip for her kindness. Dean and Sam didn’t eat it was just John who bought the hot tea mainly to calm himself down. 

“Before we can cure Sherlock we have to know where he is,” John brought up the past conversation again, “Can’t you get your angel friend to help?”

“He might be a little, well, more off putting with you,” Dean smirked slightly, a shit eating grin, “After you snapped on him.” 

“Whatever, can he just help?” 

 

oooo 

 

“He’s in Epping Forest.” Castiel said flatly after the Winchester’s called, John tilted his head at how the angel already knew the answer to his question before he actually asked, 

“How-?” 

“I keep a close ear when I’m away.” The angel said, glancing at Dean and Sam. 

 

“Can you please take us to Epping Forest then?” John asked, Castiel thought about it for a minute, keeping the same emotionless face as he always does. He always looks so upset, it makes John wonder what exactly is on that angel’s mind.

Castiel nodded, the trench coated angel walked over to John. Grabbing his shoulder and sending him off, 

“Cass! You should have waited we didn’t give him the blade!” Dean shouted, Castiel didn’t respond and instead just sent Dean and Sam off to the forest as well. 

 

John landed on his feet, it’s been easier now. Sherlock would have probably fell on his face, he chuckled slightly at the thought. 

He heard rustling in the trees, the wind was heavy, cold. The sky grey due to the early fall mornings. John looked around, “Sherlock?” He spoke carefully. He really hoped that the future didn’t have him being Sherlock’s next meal. 

 

Dean and Sam came from the trees, the ones who were making the rustling. The older Winchester walked over and quickly handed John the knife, “Forgot this.” 

John gripped the knife in his right hand, now another heavy thought laid on his mind. He didn’t want to kill Sherlock, he of course has imagined the scenario but only when Sherlock was being obnoxious but even then it wasn’t over the top murder… Maybe just putting a pillow over his face.

But Dean made it a point that either he was going to become a victim or he’s going to save several people from having their heart’s removed. 

John let out a sigh and gave a nod, “How shall we look for him?” He asked, 

“Look for the sign of blood, anywhere. Maybe dead animals… Humans,” Sam answered the man, “Just anything that doesn’t look like it could just be an ‘Animal attack’ “ John nodded and began looking around, Sam and Dean did the same. 

 

John, walking farther away from the Winchester’s started spotting blood, small bits of bones in the grass. He started following them like the bread trail from Hansel And Gretel. More rustling, this time it’s not the boys. 

He called out Sherlock’s name, walking closer to a bunch of trees and bushes that held moving branches. It was getting harder and harder due to the fact the sun wasn’t really showing through the clouds so John didn’t know if it was his lycanthropic friend or something else… When John got closer, he moved a branch away so to look inside the bush and immediately he was tackled to the ground by a creature, no, it wasn’t Sherlock. This creature stood taller, ran on all fours but stood on it’s hind legs. It held yellowish grey eyes which stared into John’s eyes, he could barely breath or for the fact, scream. The creature gripped down his hand’s with it’s claws and digging it’s hind claws pretty much ripped the shirt he wore. John tried to yell out but it wasn’t any use, the creature knocked the wind from him when it tackled him. 

He kicked up his feet, knocking the creature in it’s chest. It lashed forward and John moved his head so not to get bitten. It’s grip was getting weaker on John’s right arm so he brought the knife up and stabbed the creature in it’s neck, in response it howled with pain and the wound started to simmer. 

 

“John!” Dean shouted running over and hacking the creature’s head off with his knife. John winced when the blood spurted everywhere. Dean quickly helped the man up, asking him if he was alright, if the creature injured him at all, despite being covered in blood, his clothes being ripped and scratches covering his lower abdomen he just said, “I’m fine.” He looked back at the creature’s headless corpse that laid next to his feet. 

 

“Is that the werewolf he ask?” Not referring to Sherlock, the werewolf which caused the cases earlier that week.

“Yeah, we believe so.” Dean looked at the corpse. The two needed to burn it soon.  

 

oooo 

 

Sherlock. He stared at himself in the creek. The water was murky and was home to several insects and leaves but his ghastly features shined through staring back at him, his teeth much sharper than before and rapid hair growth on his forearms, developing whiskers on his face. He brought up the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his mouth- He was quickly stopped, whipping his head in the direction of southwest he just discovered a pro of Lycanthropic abilities. Enhanced hearing.

 

He could hear another a creature, a werewolf’s howl despite never hearing one he was sure that it was werewolf’s call. Sherlock quickly got up and go, heading in the direction to where he heard the howl because where the werewolves are The Winchester’s will most likely be there. He didn’t really have time to think over his confusing idea, for the first time in a while Sherlock has had a cloudy mind. 

As he ran through the forest he could hear the wind whipping past his ear, he could feel the leaves crunching beneath his feet. Normally if he ran this fast he would be out of breath just wanting to stop and lie on the ground for a while but it appears that he now gained enhanced agility along with a super stamina. Sherlock found himself able to spot John and the two Winchester’s next to a corpse before he was actually close to the three men, he stopped in his place behind a tree.

He watched as John helped grab the creature’s disembodied head while the Winchester’s struggled to pick up the werewolf’s body, it was a behemoth and looked as if it weighs more than the two of them combined. The new werewolf wondered what they were going to do with the body… Wondering if he could show himself- No, he still had blood on his face, on his clothes. His purple shirt was terribly stained. His train of thought was interuppted when he looked up and saw John, Sam and Dean all throw the corpse into a ditch, John, flicking a lit match at the corpse and Sherlock watched the flames devour the once living creatures. Is that what John is going to have to do to him? He didn’t want to be killed by his best and only companion. His jaw hanging open and his eyes darted the other way, planning of escape. 

 

John glanced over and spotted a purple blur speeding away from the area, the figure being too fast for him to actually catch a glimpse of, “Sherlock?” He squinted,

Dean looked in the same direction. He quickly notified Sam, “There he is!”    
“Are you sure it’s him?”   
“I’m damn sure, I remember that purple shirt.” He picked up his knife from the ground, previously dropping it so he could carry the now well done werewolf. 

“How are we going to catch him? I can’t run that fast,” John didn’t like running in general, it would send intense pain to his leg. Walking without a cane he just feels a slight pinch but he’s able to forget it. 

Dean hadn’t thought about that, how were they going to catch him? The Consulting Detective already had cat like reflexes and now combined with werewolf abilities. The three pretty much already failed at catching him. 

 

“What if we bait him?” Sam suggested, it wouldn’t hurt to throw out some ideas.

“Bait him?” John looked over at the taller yet younger Winchester, “Like with food?” Sam nodded to that. 

Werewolves crave for the taste of fresh, warm blood so they can’t kill a rabbit or a deer and leave it out for him. 

 

Sherlock wants to find something and kill it himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

_ “I hate this plan.” John muttered as he stood in the middle of the forest, holding a knife close to his hand. _

 

“Do I really have to cut myself to bait him?” He glared at the two Winchester’s hiding behind a rock so Sherlock won’t spot them, 

“Yes, he needs to smell the blood,” Dean stood up, leaning against the rock, “Seeing as you’re the first person he wanted to eat… He most likely still wants to.” 

“It doesn’t hurt too much, you just have to do it a certain way.” Sam spoke referring to John having to cut himself. Dean disagreed saying it hurts like hell in which Sam glared at his brother. 

 

John sighed, “Fine.” He dragged the blade across his hand, his face was scrunched into a wince, “You two do this a lot?” John looked up, blood trickled from the small lesion on his hand. Well at first it was just a little bit of blood then it turned into a small flow of blood. John pushed down slightly on the wound just to slow down the blood loss. He took his fingers, scooping up some of the blood and smearing it on his cheek, neither Dean or Sam asked him to do that he just felt like Sherlock could smell it a lot better if it was on his face. 

He stood there for a couple seconds, biting his lip. The suspense was killing him mostly because they all had to do this just right, they have to catch Sherlock before he actually attacks the blond man. 

 

Sherlock was around the area, he smelled the fresh blood when he stopped even though he was miles away from John. 

He looked in the direction where he was standing. He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to run far from the smell or go towards it so he can attack. 

Sherlock felt his stomach growl. Again the smell of blood being too strong over him, he licked his lips, 

“Dammit.” He mumbled under his breath and quickly began to speed in the direction where John was. 

 

oooo 

 

Right when John was about to give up was when he spotted the purple figure running towards him, he looked at the Winchesters just before getting tackled onto the ground. Sherlock didn’t even stop to see who was the one bleeding. 

He pinned John to the ground, snarling, John felt fear in the back of his throat but instead of screaming for help he just bit his tongue and kept it back. 

 

Dean quickly ran over to aid the pinned down man but first stabbing Sherlock in the shoulder with the silver blade. Sherlock let out a piercing howl and looked at Dean who then pushed him off John, keeping him on his back. 

John got up and despite not wanting to harm his friend he took the silver knife and jabbed it through Sherlock’s hand and into the dirt, pinning him into the ground. 

Sherlock let out another howl. Smoke escaped from both wounds from his hand and his shoulder, 

“Is he going to be alright?” John asked wiping the blood off of his face, Dean gave a nod and Sam walked over to him to tie up Sherlock. 

It was simple to lift the lycanthropic man, he was really light. No wonder John could carry him so easily despite being smaller than Sherlock. Sam picked him up and threw him over his shoulders. His arms were bound to his sides and his legs bound together so he’d be unable to move. Sherlock of course attempted to fight this, furiously trying to break loose of the thick rope, 

“No use in fighting,” Sam said holding him tighter, “The rope is contained with silver.” 

 

Dean attempted to call out to Castiel so he could take him to the Bunker and of course like always Castiel answered. 

Castiel looked at the three, “You believe there is a cure for Lycanthropism?” He asked, even he knows there really was no way to reverse its effects. Once your bit you're a wolf forever, Dean nodded,    
“We found some information in Bobby’s book, Cass… It might not work but John seems so willing to try it.” 

Castiel turned his gaze to John, 

“Wait can’t he just do what he did last time… you know,” John didn’t really know what to call it so he just pointed at his own forehead with his two fingers, “Whatever it’s called.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Castiel shook his head, “I can heal injuries… like a broken limb but I cannot heal supernatural beings.” he looked at Sherlock, hanging over Sam’s shoulder. 

John frowned, glancing at the ground, “Oh… Right, I guess that sort of makes sense.” 

Dean told Castiel that they were going to keep him in the dungeon and do the rituals on Sherlock to see if any worked. If at least one did then it’d be an astonishing breakthrough, Castiel agreed with this idea and sent Sam and Dean to The Bunker. The angel walked up to John and just before he could send him along with the two he spoke,

“None of the rituals are going to work you know…” He grabbed John’s shoulder before the man could even let the words process.

 

oooo 

 

They had Sherlock bound to a chair in the middle of the dungeon, he kept staring down, staring at the Devil’s trap printed onto the concrete floor. 

John stayed close to Sam. Castiel decided to join them so in case anything went wrong he could stop Sherlock from dying. 

 

While Sam and Dean tried the rituals out on Sherlock while John spoke with Castiel, 

“What were you saying? none of these are going to work?” He tilted his head, 

The angel held a blank expression, he didn’t look mad, he didn’t look sad or happy… It was just neutral which was many of the things that creeped out John, “There is no cure for Lycanthropy.” He said flatly, 

“So? That doesn’t mean any of these are going to work.”   
“John,” Castiel fixed his expression, more stern, “From the beginning of time there have been no known cures.” 

“What about killing the wolf that bit him?” John asked, he remembered the mythologies and lores he heard from when he was a child, 

“It is unknown which werewolf attacked him, so it’s relatively impossible to kill it.” 

John let out a sigh, he was getting annoyed with this angel, “I thought angels were supposed to be you know… all halo and loving.” 

Dean laughed taking a second away from trying the cures on Sherlock, “Yeah, no, that’s all a lie.”

“I see that.” John crossed his arms, he walked away from the angel and to the two brothers, “What are you trying out on him?” he asked, 

“Well… The first thing in the journal says saying the victims full name can temporarily change them back to human.”   
“Temporarily?” John was slightly confused by what Dean meant by that, how long is temporarily, 

“Maybe like an hour or a day… Keep his hunger down, that’ll probably be our last resort.” Dean pursed his lips. 

 

Sam walked up to Sherlock, gripping the blade in hand. One of the rituals spoke of striking the werewolf three times in the head with a knife. John feared of this one but Dean reassured that Castiel was standing guard for a reason, he was their ‘reset button’ 

The younger Winchester took in a deep breath and raised his blade. John couldn’t bear to watch so he looked away, afraid to throw up if he watched. Sam took the blade and struck the lycanthropic man around his frontal lobe area, the knife broke through his skull John could hear it break, glancing over he caught a glimpse of the blood dripping from the wound. Sherlock froze in his place, staring at Sam with a mixture of pain, confusion and fear on his face. Sam pulled the blade from his skull and did the same action two more times, the sound only got worse. 

 

Werewolfs are virtually indestructible. Where John believe he was going to have to help bury his friend after these events, he was surprised to see Sherlock still living, breathing, thrashing against Sam’s blade.

Sherlock was of course howling in pain, indestructible didn’t mean he couldn’t feel pain. Tears running down his face, mixing with blood. He didn’t even sound human, and he acted much more aggressive than normal, 

“I-Is it working?” John said trying not to gag, the scene was just too gory even for John. Dean bite his lip, he was afraid it wasn’t working, 

“I don’t know…” He responded quietly, “Sam, Sammy. Take the knife out…” Dean was kind of upset that none of these were working. He’d promised John that at least one would work and he was so confident about it.

Sam took the knife out, of course some skull fragments went along with the knife. Castiel slightly pushed John aside to get to the man’s friend, taking his two fingers and tapping Sherlock’s busted forehead it returned to its original state. 

Dean thought about taking John out of this place. The poor man looked as if he was going to throw up, he’s had to handle so much before and they’re barely scraping the surface with these rituals… Bobby knows more about these things. 

 

oooo 

 

Dean got John out of there, calling Bobby and sending him over to the bunker to do the rest. He felt that he and Sam had to emphasize that there was no cure for Lycanthropy and that there were only two choices laid out for Sherlock; To live with this new form or to be put out of his misery. 

 

Castiel stayed behind with Bobby so Dean had to take the Impala which he was glad even after teleporting several times with angelic grace it gets nauseating so it was nice to drive down the highway with his Father’s track in the radio. 

“John, you doing alright?” Dean asked glancing into the rearview mirror. Sam glanced back as well then quickly looked forward at the road for his brother. 

“Hm?” John broke from his sort of trance, raising one eyebrow, “W… What’d you ask again?” 

“Are you okay? You looked like you were going to spit up in the Bunker.” 

“Oh… Um, yeah…” John nodded quickly, “I’m fine.” It was kind of easy to tell John was hiding something under his words. 

 

They stopped at a fast food chain. Dean wasn’t going to bring up the fact that he or his brother hadn’t eaten during this entire case except for the meal at Garth’s and also the restaurant was far from the Bunker, far from Sherlock.  

Stopping the car close to the entrance. Dean turned the keys in the ignition to turn off the Impala before actually taking out the keys and keeping them attached to his belt loop on his jeans. Sam opened the back door for John, letting the man out. John didn’t speak that much but then again he hasn’t been that chatty since Sherlock was attacked.

 

John followed the two inside. On the outside he looked calm and collected as if nothing has happened. 

He was greatly disturbed by what he saw. Sam stabbing his flatmate in the forehead with a blade, sure, it didn’t do damage… Just made the man more aggressive which John knew why, it was all due to the frontal lobe damage. He had to research this kind of stuff in College. 

The doctor has seen his fair share of disturbing injuries in Afghanistan; Patients with their limbs blown off, riddled with bullet wounds… et cetera. But he never saw the damage actually happening. 

 

“John?” Dean spoke again, John had apparently been lost in thought since Dean has been standing there for the past minute trying to get the British man’s attention. John quickly looked to Dean again with the same response,    
“Hm?”   
“Are you going to order anything?”

“Not that hungry but I’d be good with hot tea.” John mumbled moving away from Dean to go sit down. He sat at the table Sam chose, sitting across from the tall man. 

“Don’t worry,” Sam spoke up to John, “Sherlock’s not injured… Werewolves are pretty sturdy with a ridiculously amount of strength.” He attempted at making him feel better, “To Sherlock that stabbing was like a little nick. A papercut.”

John nodded, licking his lips slightly then speaking up, “Hm, I guess that makes sense.” The two began a conversation in which John taught Sam more about human brains, the frontal lobe and what would happened if it was injured.  

Dean came over after a couple minutes breaking up the twos rather gorey and detailed conversation about brain fractures. In one hand he carried a small brown paper bag most likely containing a cheeseburger and fries, in the other hand he held a black container which held what Sam ordered; Salad. Dean handed John his tea which was in a coffee container. 

John smiled, “Thanks.” He set the tea aside and proceeded to take out his wallet but Dean stopped him.

“No need for that, I paid for you. On the house.” He gave a small grin back, it was the least he could do after all these events. John thanked the man and put away his wallet, he picked up the cup and drank from it. At first he gagged slightly, it was bitter to fix that he took a couple of the pink sugar packets next to the napkin dispenser. The two watched him place four sugar packets into his tea, it seemed he had a similar addiction to sugar like Sherlock did with Nicotine patches.

“Is your tea sweet enough yet?” Dean asked lifting an eyebrow after taking a bite from his burger. 

John took a small sip before giving a nod, “I don’t like my tea bitter…” Dean sneered, joking with John, “I see you Brits love your tea.” 

Taking another drink from the cup, “Yeah.” He nodded finding amusement in the comment. 

 

Sherlock was right. Ranch and Vinegar for Sam and Fast food for Dean, it kind of made John smirk. The Consulting Detective always getting the little stuff right, it just played with his head that there might be a possibility that he will lose Sherlock, to be honest the man doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t have Sherlock by his side whether it be with his constant whining or John just doing little task for the man like picking up milk… Which he forgot to do when Sherlock asked him to do a couple days back.

John already knew that Dean was going to give him the choices, it was like a messed up game of Would You Rather; Constantly having to look after your friend so he doesn’t attack people or just not have that friend with you at all.

 

“We said reciting his full name would temporarily reset him,” Sam spoke into a napkin he held over his mouth.    
John was doubtful but really at this point there was nothing to lose, he nodded finishing up his tea. He took Sam and Dean’s trash and threw it away for them along with his cup. 

 

Time to test it out. 

 

Dean drove the Impala back to the Bunker with Sam and John. The man who sat in the backseat spoke of his idea though he was losing faith he wanted to try their last resort. 

After Dean pulled the Impala onto the curb, parking it near the entrance to the Bunker. John got out without having Sam open his door. 

“John, don’t get your hopes up.” Sam warned the man seeing as he was eager to get to the Dungeon, “This one might be a flook like the other one.”   
“Okay. I understand that but this is the last chance I have, if this doesn’t work I know Sherlock doesn’t want to be stuck as a werewolf…” He trailed off slightly, “If this is his end… I’m surprised…” John covered his grief with humor, “I’d always thought he’d go out by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person…“ He let out a small weak chuckle, “Not by a silver blade.” 

The atmosphere felt heavy with John’s melancholic attitude. In which Dean ushered John into the Bunker quickly. 

 

oooo 

 

John stood inside the Bunker. Bobby, Dean and Sam stood on guard next to Castiel if anything were to go haywire, Dean and Sam didn’t even like John’s plan but he knew there was no way of talking him out of it. 

Dean walked up behind John attempting to hand him a silver blade, John glanced at him and slowly shook his head pushing the man’s hand away, “No, you have to do it.” He sighed. Walking forward into the Devil’s trap, closer and closer to his thrashing Lycanthropic friend. Sherlock has grown weaker due to the hunger it was the only thing actually keeping him going. 

“Sherlock…?” John spoke quietly, it was hearing John’s breathing that kept Sherlock thrashing behind him. Untying the rope that held Sherlock down he didn’t respond, he just spoke in snarls and growls. John quickly jumped out of the Devil’s trap when Sherlock was released which was kind of pointless since Devil’s traps only captured demons. Sherlock slowly walked around trying to regain his memory to walk, falling to all fours he wasn’t interested in Dean, Sam, Bobby or Castiel. 

“Sherlock!” John shouted catching the attention of the werewolf, he held himself open arms spread wide out, Sherlock took a sniff at the air, smelling the blood pumping and the fear in John he quickly darted forward, claws out. 

 

“William Sherlock Holmes… Scott!”


End file.
